


What One Does For Money

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Book Club, F/M, Fluff, Mycroft Being Mycroft, love grows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-27 12:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: For the March Hiatus prompt. Has an arranged marriage gone wrong?





	What One Does For Money

I've just graduated from university and found a suitable place to live in London. I've moved into my flat only this week and unpacking, buying the sundries needed has left me somewhat testy. All I want is to set down, have the telly on and let my brain go to waste.

* * *

The afternoon's accomplishments done, and I have tea and biscuits on my table, remote in hand when I receive a text from my older brother Mycroft.

          _Need to see you. Most important. Sending a car for you in an hour._

* * *

Sigh! No rest! I begin to text to tell him I'm busy, but I know that's futile. When Mycroft calls, he doesn't take kindly to a refusal.

* * *

At his house I am. Trying my best to behave, sitting in his darkened office, with only the lamps lit, even though it's the afternoon. Why is everything of Mycroft's dark?

* * *

          "You did very well. Your grades are exemplary. I am proud of you, younger brother," seeming to sort out papers sitting on his overly large mahogany desk.

          "Thank you. What is the occasion of this visit? I know you. Never a social visit. Always business."

I sit up straight expecting the worst.

          "Yes, we have the matter of you turning twenty-one in a few months."  


          "That's what happens when one is close to their next birthday."  


          "Stop trying to be humorous. This is very serious."  
He's still shuffling papers on his desk, and I know that's a nervous sign for him.

I sit up straighter, feet flat on the floor. Trying to figure out what is going to occur next.

* * *

          " Mummy and Daddy set up trust funds for us as you know. But you haven't known the full disclosure, which I am going to relate to you now," taking a sip from his cup of tea.

He hasn't offered me any. Again a bad sign. Something tells me I won't like this at all.

* * *

I cross my long legs, run my hand through my curls, which Mycroft thinks abhorrent. Cut it short, he always says. Only one part of my rebellion from the family norm.

Picking up a grey binder he takes out and unfolds a white piece of stationary.

          "It states that when you reach twenty-one, you receive a sizable income for the rest of your life."

I know he's already read it and is showing his older brother status.

          "That I've always known," steepling my hands, waiting for the stipulation that will throw me off balance.

          " But," and here he looks up at me pointedly, "you must marry before your twenty-second birthday, or you only receive half the sum for the rest of your life."

I jump up out of my seat, grab the paper out of his hand, annoyance on his face, an exasperated sigh escaping him, and walk to the other side of the room, away from him and close to one of the lamps.  
Reading it, I'm astonished.

          "Why?" brandishing the paper as if it was an ax, chopping at the air.

          " It was Mummy's idea. She felt that you would not be mature enough to live on your own. The lawyer at the time disclosed this to me later on, as I grew old enough to understand the situation.

I could not see us living together. That condition would not be beneficial to either of us. And mommy knew it."

          "And I suppose you did nothing to refute that claim? That I could not live on my own?" sneering at him, the anger boiling up, my fist slamming on the table the lamp is on, making it jump. I have to grab it before it falls to the floor.

Mycroft's face at this point would have the 'see, that's what we mean,' expression, so I don't lower myself to turn and acknowledge that gaze.

He does say, "Why would I? It seems that Mummy knew you best. And besides, I was still a young boy when they died in that car crash. Why would they listen to me?"

          " Now what? How do I meet someone and marry them all within a year? And why would I want to?"

          " Because, younger brother, you and I have grown up living a certain lifestyle and giving it up is not an option either of us desires. Now calm down, and let's discuss the available choices."  
Taking a breath, I shrug, walk over to the desk, lean on it with my hands and my eyes twinkle, daring him to dismiss my next questions.

          "Wait a minute, what did the will say about you? Why aren't you married?"

          "If you must know. I was to continue my studies and enter either the ministry or the government. Daddy had provided money either way. They always assumed I could take care of myself. Is that a good enough explanation for you?"

          "No marriage?"

          "Yes. I was to marry our third cousin, Margaret. She decided differently and is married to a count. There was no other requirement for my marrying, and I have decided not to."

          "And, your inheritance remains intact?"  
He indicates yes, but some intuition tells me there was behind the scenes payoffs. I know better than to inquire about that.

* * *

          "Now, to get back to the matter at hand. The reason I called you in. Do you mind?" exasperation and a half smile stops me from continuing any line of conversation.

          "I have a solution at hand. I know for a certainty that Mummy wanted you, and I, to marry the opposite sex."

Ready to move up out of my seat that I had just occupied, a wave of his hand stops me, and I sit back down. Waiting for the next suggestion that he has.

          " I know you're sexual inclination leans towards men. Don't stop me and don't question me, which I see is what you are going to do."  
I am stopped short of saying that he's wrong. Mycroft is never wrong. He does his research thoroughly before he opens his mouth.

I've had a male lover while in university. It didn't last more than a year, and we kept it pretty quiet. Leave it to my sibling to find it out.

* * *

Without a breath, he resumes, " nothing in the will states you have to marry a woman. It only says you have to marry."

          "Well, that's good at least, and knowing you, he's on the table, sliced and diced for me," my legs crossed, hands tight on the arms of the chair.  
That dumb smirk, always means he's got something up his sleeve, his carefully tailored suit. 

          "His name is John Watson. He's twenty-nine, and will fit the bill nicely."  
Turning a folder around for me to see that was already on my desk. I knew it! All planned out! I see a picture of a blonde, nicely featured man. A second picture reveals he's slim, and of a nice proportion. 

          "Read it later. Let me give you the basics."  
Leaning back in his seat he halts, stares, and I wait. 

          "From a middle-class background, educated, but no university, quite intelligent in spite of it. He loves writing and is an avid reader." I sense something coming, something I might not like.

          "John Watson is now part of my household. He began in my service two months ago so you would not have met him yet.

          "Wait, does that mean-"

          "Let me finish. He's my driver. All my staff members have to be tested for diseases before they enter my employment. He's healthy, and he's male-oriented also." 

Shaking my head, all of a sudden realizing his last statement, "And you expect us to copulate also? What for? And I assume you already have informed him of this situation? And what was the incentive to marry me?"

          "That is not for you to know," sitting up straight in his seat, standing, brushing down his trousers and coming by my side.

          "He is willing to meet with you tonight at my house. I will absent myself. Be there tonight at six. Dinner will be served to you both. I will be at my club." Stopping at the door, his hand on the knob," oh and Sherlock, no funny business in my house."

I turn to face him as I'm standing,"Do you think I'm going to-? Never mind, you obviously do."  
He walks out, and I follow.  
Damn! What a situation!

* * *

Entering the house, Albert greets me, Mycroft's butler, who, and I swear there's a smirk on his face, leads me into the dining room.  
And there he is! John Watson.

* * *

Walking toward me, hand outstretched I want so badly to grab him and kiss him, to see if my forwardness would scandalize him. But, instead, I shake his hand.

          " Shall we sit, Mister Holmes," his smile seems genuine. Of course, for the right amount of money, anyone can smile genuinely.

          "Let's get rid of the formality," sitting down opposite him at the grand dining table of Mycroft's, "Sherlock and John." The table can seat ten people without disturbing anyone's clothing and enough space to expand if needed. The wine is poured, and we lift glasses in each others direction.

          "To us," my sarcasm showing in my voice. With his glass still in the air, "Sherlock, we both know what this is about. Let's not make it worse with mockery and bitterness. I'd like to try to make a go of it, without hating each other."

And his glass goes higher and then to his mouth.  
I'm surprised and taken with that announcement.

* * *

          "I'm assuming we should discuss arrangements." 

          "If you mean for the wedding, Mycroft will have us in front of a judge, and that will be all. But if it's about our contract with each other then, after dinner, why not converse in the living room? Let's enjoy our meal first." I nod a, yes, and the soup is brought out. Our discussion during the meal is banal. But I'm jumping at the bit to find out what this man has in mind.

* * *

          "Now that we're comfortable, a drink in hand, I'm going to state my views quite clearly." We're sitting across from each other, and I perceive he's a straightforward and direct person. 

          " We should have control over our own lives without interference from the other. I have only one stipulation. Since we are a married couple, I expect no infidelity." A choke on my drink," and that means?" 

          "No fucking other people, be it, man or woman."

          "And you intend following that rule?" I'm incredulous that he states this.

Ignoring me entirely he goes on, "I am going to continue to reside in this house as Mycroft's driver. You can keep to your flat."

          "Seems to me in a marriage we live together right?" 

          "In this case the exception is the rule, right?" with just a touch of mockery, shaking his head. Clearing my throat, " and the delicate matter of sex?" He stands, places his empty glass on the sideboard, turns to me,"You're an attractive enough fellow. If you wish to enjoy the pleasure I would see no harm in it, but, at the moment I don't think it would be advisable," he proceeds to move towards the door. 

          "Wait," I stand up. 

          "What do you get out of all this?" 

          "Mister Holmes, that is none of your business," and leaves the room.

* * *

I am thoroughly stumped as to his reasoning, but, if it keeps my inheritance safe, then I will go along with it. His demands are simple enough.

* * *

We are married that weekend and as John predicted, by a judge, and with only Mycroft there.  
No kissing, just a shaking of hands and John pulling me in for a hug.

* * *

          "I've arranged for you to have dinner at the Landmark Hotel. There's a taxi waiting for you. Enjoy." A thank you to Mycroft, and we step into the taxi and to the hotel.

* * *

The Landmark is noted for its expensive menu and unforgettably fine dining. Waiters in tuxedos, white gloves, and impeccable manners. The decor leans to gold columns, white linen tablecloths, and napkins. A profusion of greenery in large floor standing pots.

* * *

          "Since Mycroft has paid for this I think I'll order the filet mignon. What about you?" 

          " I agree. And, champagne for the evening,"my best smile on my, what I feel is a stiffly held in place face. Still not sure what to do with this man. 

          "I'm sure you've read my dossier as I have yours.  
I was wondering if you'd like to meet with me on Wednesday night at the local library. You enjoy books as I do. We have been holding a reading of Shakespeares Hamlet. One of our book members is a fantastic reader."

Tilting my head, taking a moment to examine this idea I decide," yes, I would like to join you."  
Strange that he is seeking my company. I don't ask why.

          "John. If it's not an intrusion on my part I would love to see some of your writings."

He doesn't answer but cuts his steak, medium rare, and takes a bite, chewing, not giving me an answer.  
And the rest of our meal is eaten in silence. Did I say something wrong?

* * *

As we sit in the taxi for the ride to my flat, he suddenly, looking down at his hands on his knees, replies to my earlier request, "I see no harm in letting you read what I've written. But, most of it is pretty salacious. If you don't mind that."

          "I hesitate to ask but-" Interrupting me,"yes it is gay stories." Now it's my turn not to say anything. So the subject gets dropped, and I leave the taxi, "see you Wednesday night?" 

===========================================================

What a stiff, stuffed shirt! I guess I should have expected that considering he's Mycroft's younger brother.

The wedding evening was a dud! He hardly opened his mouth, and when I tried to initiate a conversation, I wound up with a decided glare of disdain. As if I was not good enough for him.

He never asked a question, never did anything but eat and stare at the food, the people. Anything but directly at me.  
Why I asked him to the library, I have no idea.

* * *

I know he loves Shakespeare and loves reading books as I do. Maybe I can break the ice that way. And, why in the world am I trying?

He is a wonderfully good-looking man with that shock of curly hair that cascades over his head, his gorgeous greenish eyes and that mouth..that mouth.

* * *

Our library is decorated with paper-mache flowers for the spring season. It's not the main library and only has a separate area, not a room, that's specifically used for the book clubs, meetings and such.

* * *

I'm standing with one of the ladies and notice that Sherlock is not here. There are four men and two ladies, between the late twenties and sixties. We've been together for a few years. Each year we pick a genre to work with.  


This year, even though there was some substantial discussion on it, we picked Shakespeare. And Hamlet is on the agenda right now.  
Robert has the perfect voice to read Hamlet, and opening the book he commences.

* * *

A rustling beside Sherlock and me takes the empty seat next to me. He's late but he's here.

* * *

The hour has passed, and Robert finishes the chapter, and we stand and stretch our stiff bodies.

I step up to introduce Sherlock to the group when, without a word, he walks out.  
Sighing I stay to converse with everyone.

* * *

For the next weeks, Sherlock appears and continues to be non-communicative.  
I give up all thoughts of a friendship with him.

* * *

It's been a year since the wedding, I've seen Sherlock approximately twenty times, and only at the library readings. But that also doesn't count his being in the company of Mycroft.  
I'm in Mycroft's office one rainy afternoon.

* * *

          "Mycroft, is it possible to get an annulment? Sherlock and I are not companions in any way. I would like to lead my own life, it's time I leave your employment." 

          "Yes, I've asked Sherlock on numerous occasions to follow up with you. No interest at all. I can arrange an annulment within two months. I already have the paperwork ready, assuming that you would ask this of me."

          "Thank you so much. And for what you did to help me."

          "John, you are a pleasant fellow. I had hoped you'd bring stability to Sherlock. It didn't work quite the way I would have liked it. Good luck in your endeavors. The papers will be mailed to you as soon as you forward your new address to me."

Leaving his office I'm excited to start on a new path, a new direction.

* * *

====================================================================

How beautiful to be back in London after all this time, even though the rain is pelting down at the moment and the wind is blowing. This is my London, my town. I've taken a hotel room for the few weeks until I can find a suitable flat.

* * *

It's a Wednesday night, three years since my last visit to the library and I want to see if the reading book club has survived.

Walking in I still see the same head librarian, she remembers me. I stop to talk to her when in the rear I hear a familiar, but an unexpected voice. Excusing myself I wander over, and what greets my eyes and ears is so out of character that I'm stunned.

* * *

Situated on a stool, surrounded by eight people is Sherlock Holmes, delivering a rendering of King Lear, giving a dramatic interpretation that includes waving of the arms, changing his voice. It's magnificent!

* * *

I settle in a chair to listen, and Sherlock, looking up from the book, eyes widening, he smiles at me, and continues.

Wonderment over this event has taken over me! More so when the reading is over, and he's surrounded by the people, staying to chat with them. They discuss a meeting taking place at someone's house that Sherlock will be attending.

I keep off to one side to wait for everyone to depart and wait for him to acknowledge me, which he does by stepping to me and I lift out of the chair, my hand giving him a slight punch in the arm.

* * *

          "Hello Sherlock," but before I can say anything else the librarian is at his side. 

          "Mister Holmes, the children's group now numbers twelve. We have to cut it off now; there's no room for more." 

          "Thank you, Kathleen. I cannot wait until Saturday." She moves away, and I see Sherlock, staring after her with a grin from ear to ear. 

          "Come, John, if you have time, let's go over to the pub down the block and catch up on each other's lives."

Taking me by the arm, leaving me no room to protest, but leaving me stunned at this new Sherlock I see, I comply. And Sherlock, in a pub, people fencing him in, noisy and drinking. This is not the Sherlock I knew from years ago, my annulled husband.

* * *

Once seated and having ordered a beer for me and wine for him, I'm about to ask more on what his life has been like when we are interrupted by the bartender, calling Sherlock's name.

          "Excuse me, John," he saunters over to begin a discussion with him As he walks back to me a man stops him and I can overhear their conversation. 

          "Sherlock, we're set for Friday night at my place. I have everything ready." 

          "I want you to meet someone, Cyril, follow me a minute." The two men join me, and I find myself introduced to Cyril as a member of a book club that Sherlock has formed. 

          "Are you new in town, John?" 

          "No, I'm a born Londoner but have been away these few years. " 

          "John,"Sherlock's voice chimes in,"why not join us on Friday? It's informal. I think you'll like the book we're reading." 

          "Oh holy shit! You're the John Watson, the author of A Penny, aren't you?" Me shaking my head yes. 

          "Oh you have to come. That's the book we're reading now! What a coincidence! And you will autograph our books won't you?" I agree, and with handshakes all around he walks off and Sherlock and I are now alone. 

* * *

I'm so amazed by this transformation, this outgoing, smiling man is not the one I remember.

          "Congratulations on the publishing of your book. A best seller also. I am happy for you." 

          "I have another I'm working on at the moment. Just in planning stages. And you?" 

          " I volunteer mainly, running two book clubs, a book reading and a children's story hour," hesitating a brief moment, "I do think about you occasionally. I have to admit I was a prig during our marriage." 

          "Oh, that's done and over. After all, it was forced on you. No choice," my next question I ask without thinking first,"Have you been in a relationship at all?"  
Laughing sharply, "None worth speaking about. What about you?"

          "I spent the better part of my time in France and Italy writing. So, the same for me. Casual. Nothing I would call a long-term thing."  
I stand and reach for my wallet, he puts his hand on mine, preventing me from taking it out,"no this is on me. By the way, where are you staying?" 

          "I'm currently at a hotel until I find a suitable flat," waving his hand away and placing some bills on the table. 

          "Why not stay at my place? I have a spare bedroom that is not in use."  
Surprised, I stare with my head cocked at an angle, still trying to figure out this new Sherlock,"why not? I would be delighted."  


          "Good. Give me the name of the hotel and the room, I'll have Mycroft's driver pick up your bags."  


          "How is he, by the by?"

          "Oh, his usual self. With Mycroft, nothing changes."  
We part company and I head to the hotel to pack. 

* * *

I must say the change in Sherlock is extraordinary! And I like what I see!

* * *

Upon arriving at the flat I see it's modern but warm and cozy, with the living room seats covered in black fabric, cushioned, and glass tables set around. A big screen telly and a fireplace that is lit at the moment.

          "Come john, let me show you where everything is."

A kitchen with a table big enough for four to sit, all the modern appliances done in a chrome sheen.

Down the hallway, my bedroom is on the right with the bathroom across the hall.  
My bedroom is simple. A double bed, two nightstands, a large dresser, desk with chair. Light blues dominate the curtains and bedcover.

          "My bedroom is just down there with an ensuite bathroom."

* * *

My three bags arrive that evening, and a routine is set up that is comfortable for both of us. I'm still amazed at the number of phone calls he receives, and the work he is doing, all volunteer.

* * *

Friday I'm at Cyril's house with twenty guests, all thrilled to meet me, the author. I spend the first half hour signing autographs.

          "Won't you read for us? It would be great to have the author's voice." 

          "I'll start but let someone else continue. I'd like to sit and listen."  
After the hour with only a part of the book read, we stop for small talk and refreshments.

* * *

Riding home in a taxi Sherlock is ecstatic about the night.

          "Can you imagine? They were so thrilled to have you there, to sign their books. What a wonderful night and I thank you." 

          "Hey. I enjoyed it. And love what you're doing now with your life." 

          "I have you to thank. After you left, I continued going to the library. I enjoyed my time there. But more importantly, it made me see how small my life was."

* * *

At the flat, we decide to have a drink to celebrate this evening. 

          "How about doing something different? Let's stay up late and watch a horror movie," Sherlock suggests.  


          "Sounds like a plan,- and hey, bring over the bottle of whiskey and keep it nearby."  
During the movie, we stop it to comment on some of the scenes and Sherlock takes out another bottle.

* * *

At some point during the night, I wake with a start and think to myself, 'I'm not in my bed and--there's someone else here.' Lying face down is Sherlock. I'm in his room, in his bed.  
I jump up but my head hurts, and the whole area, floor, walls, the air, spins, and I cry out.

          " John, lie down and stay here," a whisper from the man next to me. Putting his arm around my waist and nuzzling his face into my neck, I'm afraid to move. I fall back asleep.

* * *

It's daylight when I wake next, and my head is pounding. On the table next to the bed is two pills and a glass of water, of which I take.  
Slowly standing up, or at best leaning over at the waist, I head to the bathroom to pee. It hits me- again because I've shuffled into Sherlock's bathroom. 

I've slept in Sherlock's room and his bed. What happened last night? I still have my pajamas on, but that doesn't matter. Did we-?  
Into the kitchen where Sherlock is working on making tea and toast in sweatpants and a white button-down shirt.

          "We drank too much, John. My head is falling off." 

          "Hmm, you're right. The light is too bright. Why can't we have a rainy day today, instead of the damn sun being out." ========================================================

Last night? Did we have sexual contact? Why was John in my bed? All I remember is coming home, and we began drinking. Why so much I don't know. Then I wake to find him in my room and worse yet, next to me in my bed.  
I have a vague recollection of cuddling with him.

* * *

The evening started out well enough with him at Cyril's house and being kind enough to sign everyone's book, and then reading a few pages out loud.

I thought that we could become friends this time around.  
Do I mention anything? Leave well enough alone?  
I decide to wait and see what he says or does.  
=========================================================  
All afternoon I avoid Sherlock's eyes. I'm not sure what's happening. He doesn't show any signs that anything untold developed.  
If he's not going to mention it then neither am I. But in the meantime, it makes for a very awkward day.  
Besides the fact of us both having hangovers.  
That evening Mycroft appears at the flat and is not at all surprised to see me.

          " How nice to see you John, and congratulations. You've become quite the author." 

          " Hey, it's only my first book. And by the way, it's you I have to thank for getting me started." Sherlock is in the kitchen, his head poking out upon hearing my remark," what do you mean by that," his tone aggravated. 

          "Well, what do you think was my reward for marrying you? It was enough money to travel and have leisure time to write my book," beginning to understand that Sherlock is not taking this well. 

          "Sherlock, you both achieved success, each in his way, you have to admit," Mycroft said, spreading his hands out. Sherlock grumbles, "always plotting, you are." 

          "Come on Sherlock, you have to admit you're in a better place than you were years ago. And you have John here to thank."

He pokes his head out again," John, do I have you to thank?"  
I know exactly what he's thinking about.

          "Actually, whatever happened is your fault."

I see the quizzical look on Mycroft's face. He knows there's something more going on.

          "I think it's time for me to move along. I'll be around," and with that, he opens the door, and before shutting it, his eyes bore into us. Looking for a clue.

I've had enough guessing.

* * *

Sitting down in my easy chair I yell,"Sherlock, god damn you, get in here."

          "What's the matter? Why are you angry? "towel in hand, he sits down and stares at me. 

          "Exactly what happened last night? And don't play mind games with me!" 

          "Play mind games with you? Oh, going to blame me for this, are you?"  
Grumbling deep in my throat, "Sherlock, tell me the truth." 

          "If you want a confession--then nothing happened, at least on my part. Even though-."  
I'm surprised, my mouth wide open, "well, I did nothing, if you must know-even though-."

There's a dead spot, a quiet as we both absorb this information.  
His voice so low I almost don't hear it," why didn't we?"

Hearing that I slide off my seat and walk-crawl over to him. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" my hands on his knees.

His hands over mine he intently stares into my eyes.

          "I'm not sure. Not sure what I feel for you."  
Leaning up I give him a quick kiss, lean back to see his reaction.

          "More?"

          "Hmm, yes more," as he rocks forward to meet me and our kiss lingers, becomes tongues intertwining.  
I break away, breathless, my mind whirling.

Standing up, I walk around the room, Sherlock's eyes never leaving me.

          " It's late. We both are still feeling the results of last night. Let's sleep on this, ok?"  
He nods, stands and we both head each to our bedrooms to ponder and sleep.

* * *

I have to be at my publisher's office early and I'm awake, and out before Sherlock is up.  
I grab a coffee and scone, all the while pondering on what to do with the latest situation.  
I receive a text from Sherlock.

_I'm bringing home Thai for lunch-no drinking-just talking. no meetings all day_

_Good. I'll be home afternoon_

Having had only the bare minimum for breakfast I'm starving by the time I reach the flat, very nervous as I walk in, my hands sweaty, and both of us say nothing.

Not even a hello. I look over the mail and Sherlock says,"tea?"

          "Tea and food, if that's okay?"  
He gives a shake of his head; I walk into the bathroom, pee and wash my face. I'm stalling I know. Not sure how to face him.

          "Eat first and then talk," taking out the plates and teacups.

It's amazing how uncomfortable silence can be. But it is. Nothing is said, and nothing is heard except for the clatter of silverware and teacups on the saucer.

Dishes cleaned up, leftover food put in the refrigerator we sit in the living room.  
Quiet!

          "I started this so let me explain. I like you a lot, John. A lot. The idea that intimacy could have been initiated by whom doesn't matter, and the very fact that I couldn't recall it, was heartbreaking to me--" and here he halts. 

          "Sherlock, don't be upset. Because-- I wanted it also." 

          "I don't know what to do," throwing his hands up in the air. 

          "Then let's not. What if, now that we know, we just let it happen, when it wants to."

* * *

Walking into Mycroft's office, the both of us clear our throats as we face the man.  
Mycroft's eyes widen when he sees us holding hands.

          "And what is this new development?"

We turn to see each other, the smiles, the joy that's written on our faces, and Sherlock says to Mycroft," can we have that arranged marriage back again?"


End file.
